


The things I Love about John Watson

by high_functioning_hobo



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, fluff - Fandom, john watson - Fandom, sherlock pov - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Sherlock's point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_functioning_hobo/pseuds/high_functioning_hobo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a stream of thought examining all the little things that he loves about his John. Implied Johnlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	The things I Love about John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is a one take narrative from Sherlock's point of view sort of examining John. It doesn't have a story or plot as such, but I felt like writing something Sherlock would be thinking in his mind, it would sort of go like a first person narrative. This is pretty much implied Johnlock, and I know it may be totally out of character for Sherlock, but these are his thoughts, he wouldn't actually be vocalizing anything, so I like to think that some of it could be true :) anyway, enough of my rambling, hope its enjoyed.

John Watson is there. He finds me when I need him, and enlightens me when I forget that I need him. He is here and I can’t help but look at him in the way that I look at everything else. People are easy to read, they immerse themselves in materialistic habits and I can read them like open books. John Watson likes being ordinary, likes not being extraordinarily special, revels in it. And so I read John Watson because he is there.

I see John Watson the soldier. John Watson who gets out of bed every day at 6.30 am and does his bed. Folds his night clothes and smooth down the covers, tidying them up neatly into perfectly angled hospital corners. John Watson fluffs up his pillows and puts on his slippers, third from the left of his bedroom door, from his neat sets of shoes. Shuffles sleepily to the bathroom and brushes his teeth dutifully, mechanically almost. An electric toothbrush, he is a good soldier who counts his strokes like when he was a child, brushing each tooth equally. Then he shaves, every day without exception. John Watson the soldier has no patience for stubble, nor does he allow shaving foam to linger on his face long after he has left the bathroom. Soldiers are not careless men. John Watson gets his mousy blonde hair cut every three weeks, from the same barber who trimmed his hair neatly and always complemented him for his duty in the service. John Watson is not sentimental or vain about his appearance. He buys modest clothes when his old ones need replacing. When John Watson thinks I am not looking he goes outside to shine his shoes, but I can smell the polish on his hands long after he has placed them back into their neat little lines by his door. 

When I’m paying even more attention to him, I see John Watson the doctor. I see John Watson checking on Mrs. Hudson every evening before he comes upstairs to the flat we share and locks the door. John Watson takes his pain medication according to the prescription dose and sees his psychiatrist once every three months. John Watson the doctor picks up small birds from the side of the road and brings them home to be nursed back to help. He leaves left over food and an old plastic container of water next to the steps outside our front door for strays. I see the doctor who does his rounds at Bart’s patiently and kindly, answering stupid insufferable questions about medicine from poorly educated patients, all the while doing his best to make them get better. John Watson the doctor gets angry with me when I use my body recklessly and get hurt. John Watson the doctor gets very angry when I am hurt, because he understands how I see things and anticipate them, and he understands that I am reckless with myself by choice. But he sits with me and cleans my cuts and soothes my bruises every time. John Watson the doctor frowns at me when I smoke and hides my cigarettes from me. He winces when he catches sight of the marks on my arms that are indicative of my past addictions. I see a doctor that perseveres. 

John Watson the army doctor looks of little importance to average eyes. Without me, he would lead an undoubtedly unremarkable life and people would think him ordinary. But my John Watson is far from ordinary. Because when I look at John Watson I don’t just read him, like I see horribly uninteresting things every day. When I look at John Watson, I see things that I love, actions that make me smile. I see the things that I love about John Watson.

I love that when John wakes up in the morning, he comes to find me wherever my insomnia takes me, he comes, and touches me lightly on the back and kisses my forehead. He lets me know that he is there and that I am there and that , that simple fact makes him content beyond all compare. I love when John makes me coffee when I’m thinking and leaves on the same coaster where I’m going to subconsciously expect it to be there. Every day without fail; black, two sugars, even when I don’t bother to thank him. I love when John forces me to eat but I refuse to out of stubbornness and he is patient with me all the same. I love when John is angry with me for not understanding something that people do out of sentiment because he expects the best of me. I love when John Watson says my name. I love it when John makes me laugh on purpose. I love when John hears me playing the violin in solitude and comes downstairs to sit by me. He will sit in his armchair for hours in silence and just watch as I play; with a look of what I seem to think is confusion and bliss on his face. I love when John has nightmares he doesn’t come and ask for my help, but he will let me go to him and hold him until he stops shaking. I love that John has to jump up a bit to hit on the back of the head when I’m being sarcastic. I love that when John looks at me he doesn’t look at what everyone else looks at. He doesn’t look at my eccentricities and think that I’m a freak and he doesn’t make excuses for my shortcomings because of my intelligence. When John Watson looks at me he sees a flawed, selfish and haughty human being who is not above emotions and is worthy of love. What I love about John Watson is that when he looks at me, he sees me in every way that I am and loves me for it. And I see perfectly extraordinary John who finds the time and patience to love me. And all the little things that I love about John Watson that make me so euphorically happy are toppled by one single fact. That I love John Watson.


End file.
